


He Loved Her to the Point of Invention

by farfarawaygirl



Series: He Loved Her to the Point of Invention [1]
Category: Chicago Fire
Genre: F/M, Fools in Love, Invention, Slow Burn, he loves her
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-19
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:07:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22798327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/farfarawaygirl/pseuds/farfarawaygirl
Summary: Sylvie has a splinter, Matt has a cure.This is the start of something.
Relationships: Sylvie Brett & Matthew Casey, Sylvie Brett/Matthew Casey
Series: He Loved Her to the Point of Invention [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1639009
Comments: 14
Kudos: 138





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Casey needs to just say how he feels.

I'm not a man who falls in love easily. I've been faithful to my  
wife. We fell in love when we were twenty-two. We had plans. There  
was justice in the world. There was justice in love. If a person was  
good enough, an equally good person would fall in love with that  
person. And then I met-- Ana. Justice had nothing to do with it.

There once was a very great American surgeon named Halsted. He was  
married to a nurse. He loved her-- immeasurably. One day Halsted  
noticed that his wife's hands were chapped and red when she came back  
from surgery. And so he invented rubber gloves. For her. It is  
one of the great love stories in medicine. The difference between  
inspired medicine and uninspired medicine is love.

When I met Ana, I knew:  
I loved her to the point of invention.  
Sarah Ruhl

—————-

“Dammit!” 

“Careful, Foster! You’re making it worse!”

Curious about the cause of the disturbance, Casey leaned around the back of the open ambo. Inside Foster leaned over Brett, medical gloves on while she peered down at Brett’s hand. Foster’s back blocked Casey from most of the action, and when he cleared his throat both women jumped. They looked back at him, shocked, Brett’s hand clutched to Foster’s chest, and a pair of magnified eyes flared at him. 

“What’s going here?”

Brett pulled her hand back, and Foster removes the glasses, both of them slightly sheepish. 

“I have a splinter.”

Casey met Brett’s explanation with a slight laugh. 

“A splinter?”

“Yes! And I’ve tried everything, I can’t get it out.” Brett motioned to Foster, “and neither can Foster.”

“They don’t react in normal ways!” Was Foster’s indignant retort. 

Casey hailed himself into the back of the rig, smiled at Brett and reached for her hand. 

“What are you doing?” Foster sounded incredulous, clearly doubting his right to be in there. 

“Construction. I’ve seen splinters that would make you cry.”

Brett moaned, “I have cried over this one.”

Matt sat down in the gurney beside her and picked up her hand, he examined the splinter. Brett’s hand was soft and small in his, cold from the weather and hot near the entry point. The heel of her thumb was red and inflamed, slightly bruised near where the wood piece had pierced it. Careful not to apply pressure, he turned her hand. The wound was a day or so old, and starting to get infected. 

“I’ve tried soaking it, and glue, but it’s stubborn.” Brett was mournful, her eyes had watered at Foster’s last attempt, making them both bluer and bigger. 

“I can get that out.” 

“You can?” Both Brett and Foster spike at the same time, Brett hopefully, Foster with disbelief evident. 

“Construction worker, remember?”

“How?”

Pulling Brett up with him, Casey simply said, “follow me.”

Holding lightly onto her arm, Casey lead her through the apparatus floor to the kitchen, he deposited her by the coffee machine and gathered his supplies. A shallow dish, two packets of honey, and a mug of hot water. 

“Keep coming.”

Casey lead her through the hallways, bunk room and stopped outside his quarters. Brett followed. 

“Take a seat,” Casey gestured to his bed, Brett dutifully sat, “I just need to find something.” After a few moments of rustling in his desk drawer Casey produced a small glass vial of lavender oil. 

Brett’s nose crinkled. 

“Essential oil? Is this just an elaborate pyramid scheme?”

That startled a laugh from him. 

“Hardly.”

Casey set up his station. Added honey and lavender oil to the shallow bowl, and then dumped in the warm water. Testing it, he stirred it with his finger. 

“Here,” Casey took hold of Brett’s hand again, and lowered it into the bowl. Carefully he adjusted her sleeve. “When I was really little and learning to make a fence with my dad and grandfather I got a really bad splinter. This is how my Nana got it out. I’ve used this truck ever since.”

Brett was really quiet. From under her lashes she watches as Casey make sure the bowl doesn’t drip. 

“I’ve never heard you talk about your Dad before.”

Brett didn’t even mean to say it. She pulls a face, regretfully wishing she hadn’t said anything. 

Casey meets her eyes, his own face honest and unsurprised. 

“Yeah, yeah. I hardly ever...” Casey cleared his throat. “Today would have been, I mean I guess it is, his birthday.”

“Matt.”

Brett’s voice was soft, her free hand came to rest on Matt’s wrist. 

“He would have been seventy.”

Casey turned his hand slightly, Brett’s free hand dropped into his palm, she curled her fingers into his. They sat there in the silence, which surprised Casey with how it didn’t feel fraught with tension. Brett was as always just innately good, and caring. She didn’t pressure him for more, which in turn made him want to say more. 

“He was a bad husband, and sometimes he was hard on me, but he was my dad you know? He was the one at all my ball games as a kid, and he taught me to drive. I wonder what we would have been to one an other, if he hadn’t have died. He could be a mean man, but I miss the idea of him.”

“Whenever I had a disagreement with my parents, I would always console myself with the idea that my real parents would come and rescue me. Like, my mom would say I couldn’t go to a party, and I’d spend the right wishing my birth mom would show up and allow it. I didn’t really want it to happen, because they were my real parents. But, I think sometimes we trick ourselves so so we can get through it.”

Brett’s fingers move against his, and Casey opens his palm a bit more, lets their fingers thread together. 

The silence is back. But it’s comfortable. It doesn’t hold any pressure. Casey has the wild impulsive thought that he wants to kiss Brett, but there is bowl between them. 

“Let’s check that splinter.”

Casey removes her hand, drys it off on a hand towel and looks at the splinter, it’s swollen and poking out enough to grab. He deftly uses tweezers and removes it. 

“Thank you.” Brett is smiling at him, her face open and sincere. 

“How’d you get this splinter, anyway?”

She colours. 

“I took a woodworking class at the Community Center by my apartment. It was on sanding and finishing old wood furniture, I did a rather ambitious buffet and hutch that is now sitting in the storage unit of my apartment as Cruz hates it.”

Casey watched her twist her hands self consciously, quirking her lips into a grin. 

“I want to see it.”

Brett fishes her phone out of her pocket, she swipes and taps and brings up a picture of an antique buffet and hutch. It’s been sanded down, and repainted, she picked a soft yellow colour, and he can see she did a good job. 

“I think I might know someone who would want that.”

“Really?” Brett’s eyes are hopeful. 

“Really. Let me make a call, and I’ll let you know.”

She stands, and nods at him, “thanks Matt, for the splinter and the talk. And the help.” She picks up the bowl, still smiling at him she ducks out. 

——-

He does know someone who would like the piece Sylvie finished. Miriam Skibinski, a little old lady in Canaryville whose house he renovated last year. She has lamented the loss of an old buffet and hutch when he was finishing her dining room. Sylvie’s knack for refinishing had made her paint the old oak set a delicate white with a hint of green in it. Perfect for Miriam. 

He makes the needed call, sends an email with the picture and before dinner he has his answer. Miriam sets the price, which he knows is fair, but still generous. Matt is bursting with the news, and keeps checking for Brett to come back from a call. 

But Ambo keeps getting called. It’s been a slow day in the fire side, one call earlier for a kitchen fire, and now just drills. Ambo is a different story. They’ve been called to two car accidents. A suspected heart attack, and then a fall in the shower. Casey keeps hearing them being called out. 

It’s after 10 pm when they finally make it back into the house, and even then, it’s just to meet the minimum break standard. Foster bypasses everyone and heads to the bunks, but Brett, with a box of pizza falls into a chair beside Casey. 

“This,” she nods between the box and Casey, “is the first food I have had since I grabbed toast at 6 this morning.”

Casey grins at her, as she takes a giant bite. There is an endearing fleck of sauce on her cheek. 

“Oh! Pizza!” Mouch goes for the box. Brett is faster. She slams the lid and pulls it closer, grimacing at Mouch. “Alright. Leftovers.” He keeps on walking. 

“You look dead in your feet.”

“I am.” Sylvie now has a slice in each hand. She went with her favourite, ‘Cheeseburger Xtreme’, Casey can tell from the pickles, and the smell of mustard. 

“Can I have a slice.” 

She shots him an offended glare. 

“What if I told you I sold your piece?”

She makes a noise around the bite of food, so Casey explains. 

“I knew someone who wanted something like that. She will pay 850, and we can drop it off tomorrow.”

“Matt...” Sylvie just stops after she says his name, her face is flushed and her eyes are shining. Casey won’t admit it, but his heart picks up. “Thank you, very much.”

“Did I earn a slice?”

Brett pushes the box towards him, beaming. They share a long stretch of companionable silence as they eat their pizza. Casey watches as Brett slumps lower and lower in her chair. She really does look exhausted. Giving in, she falls forward a bit, resting her head on his shoulder. Matt sits there as she falls into a fitful sleep. 

He recognizes this kind of sleep. When you’re still in duty, but you are so tired that breathing is a chore. It’s never restful. Brett’s hand has landed palm up on his thigh, Casey fights the urge to take it in is. 

Twenty minutes later the bells go off. Brett starts awake, rubbing her neck. She stands with Casey, but sinks back down when Ambo isn’t called out. 

“Go to bed.” He nods towards the bunk room. 

“Come say good night when you get back.”

It’s a simple, easy request, and the weight of it pushes Matt through his call. 

Four hours later when they do return, he stops at the end of her cot. She’s pulled a blanket over her, but her boots stuck out the end. Casey shakes her shoulder, smiles at her sleepy face and whispers, “good night.”


	2. Chapter 2

When shift ends Casey convinces Brett to grab breakfast before they drop off her piece. 

“Come on. We deserve waffles.”

Brett gives him a skeptical look. 

“French toast?” He offers, and her smile is back. Okay. Now he know she prefers French toast. That’s a win. “There’s a place on Lakeshore that has the beat French Toast of your life.”

Brett threads her arm through his, “Of my life? You clearly never had my moms French Toast.”

They walk to his truck, it’s still brisk in Chicago, so Casey turns in the heat when they get it. Their whole morning is just, fun. Breakfast is fun, and tasty. The coffee is good. Conversation is fun. Brett is fun. When they get to Brett’s apartment, they even cajole Cruz to help load the heavy wood piece. 

As they get to Miriam’s house, Brett is suddenly antsy, she reaches out and places a hand over Casey’s on the steering wheel. 

“Thank you. This means a lot.”

Her hand is slightly cold where it meets his, but exceptionally soft. 

“Brett.” He breathes in, she is looking earnestly at him. “Don’t thank me until we unload the thing.”

He adores her laugh. 

Miriam has called in a grandson, he’s about thirty, dark haired and muscly in the way that means he spends a lot of time at the gym. He immediately takes a shine to Brett. 

“You did this?”

He appraised the piece and doles out a long whistle. Winking at Brett. 

“I know where you could get more pieces, to restore.” He is leaning, one arm on the back of Casey’s truck, the other reaching for Brett’s arm. 

“I don’t really have the space to store them.”

“Let me know if that changes.”

“We will.” Interjects Casey, hopping up into the bed of his truck. “Do you want to go upstairs first or second?”

They wrangle the buffet and hutch up the stairs, and place it in the dining room. Miriam has wrangled Brett into the kitchen, showing her a display of ceramic cats, and forcing her to eat some corn bread. It’s the way that Brett looks up and over at him, that makes Casey’s heart speed up. Like they are sharing a joke. Her eyes are soft, her smile is curled upwards, all Casey wants to do is kiss her. 

He settles for sliding a hand around her back, Brett leans into him. This physical intimacy has been growing between them for weeks, still it thrills Brett when he reaches for her. 

“Miriam, thank you for the cornbread, but, Sylvie and I have plans.” It still takes them a further thirty minutes, one business card from the grandson, an extra plate of cornbread and an invitation to a upcoming quilting bee for them to escape. Matt doesn’t even really register that he’s holding Sylvie’s hand until they reach his truck. 

She squeezes his hand. 

“Seriously, Matt. Thank you. I wish I could do more of them!”

When she pulls the door shut behind her an idea starts to take shape in Matt’s mind. 

———

It’s the next day and honestly Casey is tired of roommates. He has listened to Kidd and Severide mushy talk enough for a whole year. Without a clear thought he grabs his phone and dials. 

“Hey! Give me a sec!”

As always, her voice is bright and cheery. Casey listens to the noise behind her as she navigates away from whatever activity she was doing. 

“I’m here.” She’s a little breathless, but her words are laced with mirth. 

“Can we agree that living with roommates as adults is the worst?”

“Absolutely. A necessary evil, but at what cost?”

He’s sure she can hear his smile in his voice. “Great. So let’s take advantage of this wild Tuesday night and go out.”

“What are your thoughts on old movies?”

“Like, silent pictures?”

“No,” she snorts, “like something with Jimmy Stuart.”

“I could be persuaded. But I was thinking something with food.”

“That’s the best part! If you can pick me up at my gym in like 40 minutes, we can make a night of it.”

“Ok.”

“Oh! Can you bring an extra blanket?”

“Sure. See you then.”

Casey spends a ridiculous amount of time picking out a plain blue sweater and jeans. He tousles his hair, and puts on cologne. Trying to act nonchalant he enters the living room. 

“Hey, Stella?”

“Cap?” She chopping up celery in the kitchen. 

“Where’s, ah, where can I find a throw blanket?”

She raises a brow. 

“Cabinet.” She points with the sharp end of the knife. 

Choosing the chunky knit one curtesy of Cindy Herrmann, Casey tucks it under his arm. 

Kidd’s voice is light, “Where are you going, Casey?”. Her eyes are suspicious. 

“Out.” 

Casey nods at her as he goes. 

———

“Turn left on Brookfield, and then let’s look for spots.”

Brett is humming with energy. Casey has also noticed the actually humming, the way she sings under her breath. She had rushed out to his car, effortlessly casual in jeans and her pink parka. She’s wrapped and rewrapped her scarf at least six times. 

“So are we sneaking in food?”

“What?” Sylvie looks baffled. “Casey they serve food.”

“I need more than popcorn and jujubes.”

“You buy the tickets. I’ll handle the food.”

Casey snags a free parking spot, joining Brett on the sidewalk he slings the knit blanket around her shoulders. 

“Okay. Full transparency, this is my favourite Jimmy Stuart movie.”

“What are we seeing?”

“Philadelphia Story.”

Brett delves into an explanation, complete with exaggerated accents and hand gestures. She lead him into an old warehouse, which Casey is surprised to see has been remodelled. There is a movie theatre counter, and he obliging buys tickets. Brett takes over ordering food. She orders popcorn, of course, but adds in two beer, crispy chicken tacos and red vines. Casey has never been to a place like this before, repurposed spaces are always an interest. 

“How’d you learn about this place?”

Brett’s cheeks pink up a little. 

“After I got back from Fowlerton they held a ‘breakup night’ here. I came with my friend from Spin Class. It’s was so fun I came back a few other times.”

The walls are covered in movie posters, all oldies, ranging from Charlie Chaplin to 90’s action films. Brett picks up their order number and ushers him towards a door, they enter their theatre and Casey is surprised again. Instead of stadium theatre it’s love seats and arm chairs. Sylvie picks a purple velvet love seat near the back, and sets their number on the coffee table. 

Matt sits beside her, and watches as she settles in. Removes her shoes, and tucks a leg under her. Secured her purse by her shoes, tucks the blanket around herself. It’s cute. She’s cute. 

Old film ads are playing, but they talk to one an other about what they did that day. Drywall for him, grocery shopping and spin class for her. Casey tells a funny story about Herrmann. 

There is a certain kind of comfort that comes from knowing someone for years. Obviously they have that. There is the added complexity of their high pressure jobs. The individual heartbreak they both know, and the fortitude of character it takes to overcome it. That is the reason, Casey thinks, for the ease he has with Brett. 

She lets him calm down. She encourages him to relax. She understands him. 

A girl with pink hair and six facial piercing drops off their order, and Casey offers the first Red Vine to Brett. She squeezes lime for the chicken tacos, and Casey watches as she licks it off her thumb. 

The movie starts, and she settles in to watch it, Brett also settles against him. Tucking her head into his shoulder. She keeps the popcorn balanced on her knees, holds her beer bottle with her slender fingers. After he drops her back home, Matt remembers the way she felt pressed against him, and wonders when he’s going to do something about it.


End file.
